


Justice Will be Served

by Fenchurch87



Series: Tales of Kirkwall (and Beyond) [14]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, F/M, Guilt, Internal Conflict
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-15 23:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16073282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fenchurch87/pseuds/Fenchurch87
Summary: The night before the Chantry explosion, Anders fights an internal battle. Originally written in response to a writing prompt on /r/dragonage.





	Justice Will be Served

The Chantry door slams shut behind him, shattering the fragile peace of Kirkwall at night. He can feel Hawke's eyes on him, but for now she seems content to walk in silence. She takes his hand in hers, and a familiar warmth runs through him as their fingers interlock. On edge as he is, her presence is still calming, comforting. She is his rock, his anchor, his light in the never-ending darkness.

They have reached the estate. Hawke closes the door and looks at him expectantly. Words form in his head and are immediately discarded. Nothing is right, except–

“I love you.” That is the most important thing. He needs her to know that, even if he can say nothing else.

She smiles and continues to gaze at him, waiting for something more, but he doesn't want to talk. He doesn't want to think. He crosses the room and takes her in his arms, marvelling for what must be the hundredth time that this kind, brave, beautiful woman chose to be with him. He kisses her, long and deep, and she responds hungrily, kissing him back with just as much passion and pressing her body against his.

And now her back is against the wall, and his lips are making a trail down her neck. She reaches up and unties the cord that holds his hair back. Her hands wander down his chest and come to rest on the belt of his robes. He sighs. Perhaps he can forget for a while.

“Come on then,” she whispers with a smirk, and then she takes his hand and leads him to the bedroom.

*****

Afterwards, they lie entwined on the bed, a breathless tangle of arms, and legs, and hair. He lets his gaze travel over her body, while his fingers trace a line from her shoulder to her hip, trying to memorise every curve, every freckle, every scar.

Never again will they lie together like this, he is sure of that. Never again will he drift away in her arms, or wake up to her smile, or laugh at the strange things she says in her sleep.

Hawke shifts a little, to face him fully, and drapes an arm around his waist. “How did it go in the Chantry?”

There it is. The question he has been both expecting and dreading. He can forget no longer. He turns away from her and stares up at the ceiling. “I did what I set out to do.”

“Justice is gone?”

_Yes. Just say yes, you fool._ But he cannot. He cannot bring himself to lie to her again.

“Anders? What's going on?” He can feel her tensing beside him.

He has no answer. The silence stretches between them.

“You lied about the potion.” There is no anger or accusation in her voice. Not yet, at least.

“Yes.” He closes his eyes and lets the guilt and shame wash over him.

Soft fingers brush his cheek. “Look at me.”

He turns back to her and braces himself for whatever will come next. “Why did you lie?” she asks gently. “You can trust me with anything. You know that, don't you?”

“I know,” he replies. “If it was anything else, I would tell you. But this– I can't, Hawke.”

“Please, my love,” she says, taking both his hands in hers. “You don't have to carry this burden alone. Let me help you.”

He sees only love and understanding in her eyes, and he almost breaks and tells her everything. But his tongue is stilled by a terrible thought, of her lying dead in the street, killed by a Templar sword – or worse.

“I'm sorry.” He pulls his hands free and fixes his eyes on a spot on the wall above her head.

“As you wish.” The hurt and disappointment that flash across her face are almost more than he can bear. She gives him one last look before turning away and wrapping herself in the blankets.

He stares at her back, helpless in the face of the barrier that has appeared between them. The barrier that his lies have created. He moves under the blankets and tentatively wraps his arms around her.

“I love you,” he says, as if that can undo everything he has done.

She sighs, and he feels her slightly relax against him. “I love you too,” she murmurs, lightly stroking his fingers. “But this isn't over. I will find out what you're up to.”

He says nothing, just kisses the back of her neck and buries his face in her hair.

*****

He does not sleep. He lies there, Hawke in his arms, and doubts and regrets in his mind. Perhaps it is not too late. Perhaps he can return to the Chantry now, dismantle everything, confess all to Hawke in the morning. Maybe she will even forgive him.

_You are selfish._ The thought is not entirely his own. _You would destroy everything we have worked for, abandon our cause? All for one woman? How many thousands will continue to suffer while you live your happy, easy life? How many thousands will die because you chose to do nothing?_

He knows what his answer must be. He has gone too far down this road to do anything else. Another thought appears, approving this time.

_Justice will be served._

_*****_

It is almost dawn. Hawke will wake up soon; she has always been an early riser. It will be best if he leaves now. He gets out of bed, shivering in the morning chill, and retrieves his clothes from the floor. He picks up his usual robe, green and brown, trimmed with grey feathers, and pauses. It feels wrong, somehow. He carefully hangs it up in the wardrobe, and searches until he finds another one right at the back. It is almost the same, but all in black. _Better._ He puts in on, ties his hair back, and picks up his staff.

He stops on his way to the door and looks at Hawke. He feels he should say something. _I'm sorry?_ It seems inadequate. _Forgive me?_ Impossible. He stares down at her sleeping form. Does he really have no words for the woman who has stood and fought by his side for six years, as his lover and his friend? And then, suddenly, he knows. He reaches down, gently brushes a stray lock of red hair away from her face, and kisses her forehead.

“Thank you.” It isn't enough, nothing will ever be enough, but it is all he has.

It is time to go. He takes a deep breath and hopes he is ready for whatever the day will bring. Anticipation builds in one of the furthest corners of his head.

_Justice will be served._

 


End file.
